


Freaky

by sneetchstar



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:13:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar





	1. Chapter 1

Abbie was expecting the flowers and notes and other little romantic tokens. She was expecting the flattering words and longing gazes. She was expecting to be well and thoroughly wooed by Ichabod Crane.

She _wasn't_ expecting him to be a freak in the bedroom.

Certainly she'd heard the term “freak” applied to him in the years in which they've been acquainted. Usually, it was muttered by some judgmental idiot side-eyeing his antiquated wardrobe and manner.

She just never imagined she'd be applying that term to the man she loves.

Actually, “freaky” is a more apt description. Crane isn't a freak. He's _freaky._

And, he does, in fact, woo her with flowers and tokens. Abbie never has a reason to doubt his devotion to or love for her.

However, Abbie was expecting to be the tutor and he the student when it came to their physical relationship. She was expecting to have to convince him that it was okay to engage in “marital relations” even though they weren't married (yet. She always seems to mentally add that “yet”). And, their first time together was beautiful and wonderful, but it did not take long for Crane to come out of his shell.

The tables turned so quickly that Abbie found herself handcuffing Crane to her bed before she fully realized what was happening.

Crane is lying in the center of her bed, each hand cuffed to a bedpost. He's restrained, but giving orders. Abbie, caught in his thrall, follows his directives without question.

Not because she feels obligated. She knows she can refuse. She knows _he_ knows she trusts him completely. Because he trusts _her_ completely (she's got him naked and handcuffed to her bed, for crying out loud).

And damn, does he have charisma.

Abbie does as he asks because she loves him. And, if she is completely honest, she _likes_ this unexpected side of him.

It's hot.

 _Really_ hot.

“Miss Mills, you still have your underthings on,” Crane comments, his eyes raking over her form as she stands at the end of the bed. Now, he only calls her “Miss Mills” when they are in the bedroom. Outside, he calls her “Abbie,” and occasionally, “Lieutenant,” but he's chosen to keep “Miss Mills” for _special_ occasions.

“So it seems,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. Because she knows her impertinence just pokes the skunk. And, it's _fun._

“Miss Mills, you _will_ remove those... garments,” he says, waving a restrained hand ineffectively.

“You _chose_ these garments _,_ I'll remind you,” she says.

“You needn't remind me of anything,” he answers haughtily, his left eyebrow rising in the _way_ that lately makes Abbie's knees wobbly and her panties damp. “And now I _choose_ for you to remove those garments.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Slowly.”

“Very well, Captain,” she answers. It's meant to be teasing, but the pleasurable rumble that is his reply tells her she's going to be calling him “Captain” in the bedroom from now on. She turns around, her back to him, reaches up, and unclasps her bra. As she slides it from her shoulders, she hears his voice behind her.

“Minx,” Crane growls. She looks over her shoulder at him as she extends her arm and drops her bra to the floor. Then, her back still facing him, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her thong and slides it down, bending at the waist. He groans.

Abbie straightens up and slowly turns around, facing him again.

“Dear God, I never get tired of the sight of you, Miss Mills,” he says, his fingers flexing ineffectively as his eyes rake over her.

“You're not so bad, yourself,” she replies, allowing her eyes to travel up and down his long, lean form, lingering over his thick erection, resting on his stomach.

“Come up here,” he says.

Abbie climbs up on the bed by his feet, kneeling on either side of his knees. “What can I do for you, Captain?” she asks, her hands stroking his thighs.

“Mmm,” he says, biting his lower lip suggestively. “I should like to watch you. But, come closer, please.”

She doesn't need to ask what it is he wants to watch. “Of course,” she answers, shuffling closer, straddling his hips, still on her knees. She runs her hands over her breasts a few times, flicking her nipples just enough to make them stand up for him. Crane licks his lips, his eyes dark with passion.

She slides one hand down and parts her lips, slipping two fingers between, spreading the wetness he brought on without even touching her. She moans a little as her fingers circle her button, her back arching involuntarily. Her other hand is still toying with a nipple, and she pinches it as she plunges her fingers inside herself, pumping them in and out a few times. “Oh...” she breathes.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “that's lovely.”

His voice does things to her as much as his eyebrow does and she moans again. Then, she drops forward, depositing her breast into his mouth. He groans and latches on, kissing and sucking her breast, flicking her nipple with his tongue.

Abbie reaches for his shaft, rubbing her hand over him, wrapping her wet fingers around and squeezing _just_ enough.

She leans back, bends down and kisses him, then lowers her hips, sheathing him within her.

“Miss Mills...” he says, struggling to make his voice stern. It is meant as a warning.

“Just a detour,” she says. She slowly slides up and down on his shaft four times, then pulls away.

“Fuck,” he gasps, tightly closing his eyes.

“All things in time, Captain,” Abbie coos.

“Do not use my words against me, Miss Mills,” he says, opening one eye. Usually, it is he who is chastising her to be patient.

She laughs and continues moving up his body, still straddling him. She sits on his chest, sliding herself around a little, spreading her wetness on his body, feeling the texture of his chest hair against her sensitive flesh.

“Mmm,” he hums. “My favorite cologne.”

Abbie grins and moves higher until she is straddling his face. She lowers herself onto his open mouth, moaning loudly as his tongue comes forward to meet her.

His voice and his eyebrows are wonderful. His _tongue_ is magnificent. Sublime. Magical. Abbie grabs the headboard of the bed to keep herself from collapsing onto his face. Somehow, she thinks he wouldn't mind meeting his maker being smothered by her _this_ way, but today is not that day.

“Cra— Icha— _Captain,_ ” she finally manages to get the right name, her fingers clutching the wood of the headboard like her life depended on it. He is relentless, his tongue circling and flicking and thrusting and licking and after an eternity that is far, far too short, she cries out loudly, reflexively lifting up to escape his blissful torture as she powerfully comes. “ _Damn_ ,” she gasps, collapsing backward, lying awkwardly on his torso, her head on his hip.

“Interesting view,” Crane deadpans, looking down at her, spread before him.

Abbie laughs and moves, straightening herself out. She leans down and kisses him. His beard is wet with her juices and she tastes herself as she kisses him.

“You're going to leave that in your beard as long as you can, aren't you?” she asks, touching her nose to his.

“Indeed I am, Miss Mills,” he says, smirking mischievously. “You are my favorite scent.”

“And _you_ are amazingly dirty in the sweetest way,” she says, returning his grin.

“Thank you very much,” he says, raising that eyebrow again.

“Ooo,” she coos, kissing him again as she reaches for his manhood. “Your turn?”

“Yes, please,” he answers, flexing his hips upward, pressing himself into her hand.

Abbie kisses him once more, deeply, hungrily, then lifts her head. She winks at him, sits back, and turns around.

“Miss Mills?” he asks, temporarily perplexed.

She straddles him, this time with her back to him, and sinks down over his erection again, bracing her hands on his thighs.

“Oh... temptress... you are too cruel,” he groans, pulling at his restraints now. The metal bites into his wrists and he sharply sucks air in between his teeth.

Abbie looks over her shoulder at him. “Okay?” she gasps, still moving up and down over him.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice raspy. “Mmm, I must say your... backside is... oh... quite delectable,” he grunts, falling back into her rhythm, his eyes now glued on the perfect round backside bobbing in his field of vision. “Oh, yes...”

Crane feels one of her hands leave his thigh, sees her arm move as it skims over her breast, and down again.

“Miss Mills, are you touching yourself?” he grunts.

“Yes,” she breathes, her head dropping back. “Mmm, yes, I am,” she says, increasing her pace, moving faster, harder.

“Yes...” he echoes. Abbie can hear his breathing grow heavy and erratic behind her. She's close, too, and arches her back, changing the angle slightly as well as more deliberately pointing her backside at Crane.

“Mmm,” she moans, “Ichabod...”

“Oh, yes... oh, Abbie...” he chokes out her name as he comes, his entire body tensing beneath her.

Abbie is right with him, crying out wordlessly at the same time, her knees reflexively squeezing his hips.

He always reverts back to “Abbie” from “Miss Mills” at that moment. It always makes Abbie's heart swell when she hears it.

Crane exhales a long breath and Abbie carefully slides off of him, crawling over to retrieve the key to the handcuffs from the nightstand. She instinctively knows he needs to be freed as soon as possible and makes quick work of the cuffs, leaving them dangling from the bedposts for now.

As soon as his hands are freed they are on her body, pulling her into his embrace, caressing her skin. He tugs her up to lay on top of him, his arms wrapped around her as they kiss.

“I love you.” They whisper the words over and over to each other in between their kisses, returning to earth.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, I bought you some—” Abbie's words stop in her throat and she almost drops their groceries when she sees Crane sitting in the living room, blithely reading _Fifty Shades of Grey_. “Um...”

“This is a fascinating book,” he says, looking up. “Though, I fear Mr. Grey has some deep-seated psychological issues.”

“Um, yeah.” Abbie is a bit flabbergasted. She intentionally hid those three volumes at the bottom of her bookshelf so he wouldn't find them. _Should have put them in a box in the basement. Or buried them in the backyard._

She learned th _e har_ d way that if you want to hide something from a tall person, you stash it low, not high.

_“Miss Mills, is this what I think it is?” Crane asks, the object in question held securely in his large hand._

_Abbie looks up at him and her eyes widen. When she made some room in a couple of dresser drawers and part of her closet so he could bring some things over, she hastily and thoughtlessly shoved her vibrator (previously located in one of said dresser drawers) under a pile of sweaters on the shelf in her closet._

_Forgetting it was there (because who needs it with him around?), she retrieved a sweater from the pile this morning, and it must have shifted._

Damn tall people. _She mentally cursed Crane and the height she usually finds quite attractive._

_“That depends. What do you think it is?” she asks carefully. She studies his face. As usual, it is passive, giving away very little, but his eyes are alight with salacious anticipation._

_“It appears to be a dildo,” he casually declares, inspecting it._

_Abbie's jaw drops. “Y-you know what a dildo is?”_

_“Of course. These devices date back to prehistory, my sweet. Certainly you didn't think this was a purely modern invention,” he says._

_“Oh, really?” she asks, standing, a challenge in her eyes. She places one hand over Crane's holding the vibrator and strokes the shaft with the other. “But, could those prehistoric deals do this?” She slides her hand to the very bottom of it and presses the button, firing it to life._

_“Oh!” Crane exclaims, surprised. If Abbie hadn't been holding his hand, he would have dropped it. “Mmm, that has delightful possibilities...” he rumbles._

_Abbie guides their hands downward, smirking at him, and presses the device against his groin, taking him by surprise. He shouts a sharp, incoherent sound, and Abbie giggles uncontrollably._

_“Oh, now, we shall have to do something about this,” he says, mock-stern, tugging her back to the bedroom. “How did I not see that button?” he wonders aloud, lifting the vibrator and inspecting the bottom. “Ah, I see. Hidden.” He turns it off, then turns his attention back to Abbie. “Miss Mills: bed, if you please.”_

_“Oh, so it's like that, is it?” she asks, sauntering to the bed. Crane sets the vibrator on the bed, then yanks his shirt off and tosses it aside. He reaches down and starts removing Abbie's pants._

_He tugs her jeans off and smoothes his hands up her legs, leaving them tingling. He kisses her thigh, then lifts her torso to remove her t-shirt._

_He drops her shirt on a chair, then leans over her on the bed, kissing her deeply, his large hand lovingly cupping her cheek._

_“I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” he asks, murmuring the words against her neck, his warm soft lips and tongue sliding against her skin while his beard tickles._

_“Hmm? I don't even remember what I was doing,” Abbie whispers, wrapping her leg around his hip. She then notices he still has his trousers on, so she slides her hands downward to start removing them._

_“Mmm, I like that I can distract you so,” he purrs, sliding his hands beneath her back reaching for the clasp of her bra. She arches her back to assist him, and a moment later her bra is hitting the floor. He scoots back and away from her, shucking his pants, but leaving his boxer briefs on._

_Abbie openly leers at his slender, muscular form, her eyes lingering over the noticeable bulge in the front of his underwear._

_“Miss Mills, my eyes are up here, if you please,” Crane teases, and she laughs. “Now, then, where were we? Yes.” He sits on the bed again, leaning over Abbie. He kisses her deeply, then works his way down her neck, between her breasts to her stomach, trailing kisses. He slides his hand up her thigh and hooks his long fingers into the elastic of her panties. She lifts her hips and he slips them down over her legs and drops them to the floor._

_He gropes for the vibrator, his lips still worshiping her skin, and tries to turn it on without looking at it. Unable to find the button, he grunts in irritation and lifts his head._

_Abbie giggles at him again, but her laughter is cut short when the now-vibrating device drags over her folds. “Oh...” she gasps._ It's been so long since I've used it.

_“Fascinating,” he whispers, watching how she responds to the way he moves the vibrator. Her back arches. Her nipples tighten. Her lips part. He leans down and kisses those lips, momentarily distracted._

_“Beautiful,” he murmurs._

_He brings the vibrator up, touching it to her erect nipples._

_“Mmm,” she hums, squirming a little._

_He moves it downward, dragging it over her body and sliding it into her, moving it in and out a few times._

_“Oh,” she moans, angling her hips to meet each thrust as he moves it in and out._

_He moves it out and up a couple inches, touching it to her sensitive button._

_“Yes,” she gasps, her body arching off the bed._

_Crane curses under his breath and drops the vibrator on the bed. Abbie looks up, confused, and sees him yanking his boxer briefs off. He is over her in a flash, kissing her hungrily and nudging his hips in between her thighs._

_Abbie welcomes him, pulling him towards her as he guides himself into her, filling her completely. “Oh...” he groans, holding himself rooted within her, not moving._

_He starts thrusting, slowly at first. The vibrator buzzes on the bed beside them, and he scoops it up. Abbie thinks he's going to turn it off, but instead, he gives her one more searing kiss, then leans back, gripping her hip in one hand while he brings the vibrator back to her with the other._

_“Ooo,” she moans. “Oh, yes...”_

_The vibrations reach Crane's shaft as well, and he groans again, only this time it turns into a growl as he increases his pace, driving them to their completion._

_“Oh... Ichabod!” she cries out as she climaxes, her hand frantically knocking the vibrator away, unable to take any more._

_“Abbie,” he croaks, collapsing over her, but mindful he doesn't crush her. He smiles against her neck as he feels her arms wrap around his shoulders, hugging him tightly._

_Beside them, the vibrator continues to hum, forgotten for the moment as he murmurs words of love in her ear._

“So, what was it you bought me?” Crane's voice interrupts her memory, and Abbie realizes she's been standing and staring.

She also realizes her panties are slightly damp.

“Hmm? Oh, peanut butter Oreos. They were on special,” she answers, shaking her head slightly.

“Excellent. Thank you, Treasure,” Crane smiles, tucking a bookmark into the book and setting it on the table. He strides over to her, kisses her, and lifts the grocery bag from her arms.

Abbie is leaning down, putting a box of cereal in the pantry cupboard when she feels Crane behind her. He presses against her back as she straightens up, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“The combination of that book and this backside,” he purrs, squeezing said backside, “is putting thoughts into my head.”

Abbie leans against him and tilts her head back to receive his kiss. “You don't need any help getting thoughts in your head,” she informs him.

“True,” he says, steering her over to the table. He turns her so she is facing him, then he lifts her and sets her on it, standing between her knees.

“Crane,” Abbie weakly protests, her disobedient legs already wrapping around him, “I'm putting away groceries.”

“Miss Mills,” he insists, kissing her. “You've gotten everything that requires refrigeration put away,” he says in between kisses. “The rest can wait.” Then, he slides his hands under her blouse.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Mrs. Crane!” Abbie exclaimed, running towards the_ _woman,_ _lying_ _in a heap on the floor. She was limp and covered in her own blood, but still alive. “Mrs. Crane… Katrina… stay with me…” she pled, dropping to the floor, grasping the prone woman’s shoulders, and setting her head in her lap. “Where are you wounded?” Abbie asked, beginning to check Katrina over._

_“Miss Mills,” Katrina had whispered. Rasped. Her hand weakly came up to cover Abbie’s, stopping i_ _ts movement_ _. Only then could Abbie see the deep gashes in the witch’s wrists._

_“Katrina… what have you done?” Abbie gasped, now reaching for Katrina’s skirts, looking for something to bind her wounds and stop the blood. “Crane!” she shouted, unsure of where her partner was in these God-forsaken tunnels._

_“No,” Katrina protested. “This is how… it must be. This is the only way I can… escape from Abraham…”_

_“You escape Death by killing yourself? That doesn’t make sense!” Abbie said, trying to tear a strip of material from Katrina's skirts. The fabric, though old, wouldn't give, and Abbie growled in frustration._

_“It is only in dying that I may… escape his clutches,” she explained, her breathing ragged, chopping her speech into fragments. “He must… allow me to… cross over… as Death, he is bound… no choice…”_

_“Crane!” Abbie yelled again, desperate. His wife cannot die here in my arms while he is somewhere else. “Crane!!”_

_“Miss Mills,” Katrina’s soft whisper brought Abbie’s attention back. “You must… open your heart to him,” she said, bringing her hand up and resting it over Abbie’s heart. “You… have walls… around it…”_

_“Him? Him who?” Abbie aske_ _d, but she knew the answer._

_“You have let… few people inside, but… you have allowed i_ _t... at times_ _,” Katrina continued. “Jenny… August Corbin… You must let Ichabod in.”_

_“But…”_

_“He was never mine to keep,” Katrina sighed, her hand dropping from_ _Abbie’s chest, leaving a streaked, red handprint on her skin and shirt. “My duty was… to deliver him to… to you… to ensure he… was united with_ _you…” Her voice was getting much weaker._

_“Katrina…” Abbie begge_ _d_ _, knowing her partner would be crushed and heartbroken._

_“Abbie,” Katrina rasped, then coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of her_ _mouth_ _, and Abbie delicately wiped it away. “Love him well.” Her eyes closed. “Tell him… tell him I loved him… and… I release his heart... into… your care…” She opened her eyes one final time and looked directly into Abbie’s for a few seconds._

_Lieutenant Abbie Mills watched as the_ _light_ _left Katrina Cran_ _e’s eyes._

_Tears she didn’t realize were falling landed on Katrina’s pale face, and she wiped them away, then gently closed the witch’s eyes._

_“Crane… Ichabod…” Abbie closed her eyes and whispered, still cradling Katrina._

_When Crane arrived a few minutes later, he was wide-eyed and desperate. “I… I felt you calling for me, Lieutenant…” he gasped, out of breath from running. “We just secured Abraham under the lights again, and… oh, God!” he exclaimed, finally walking into the chamber far enough to see the scene before him._

_He collapsed to the ground, wrapping his arms around both women._

 

xXx

 

“So... did you do these kinds of things with Katrina?” Abbie asks, cradled naked in his arms, snuggling against him in a post-coital cocoon of warmth and love. It's a question that's been on her mind since he first shed his inhibitions. She absently rubs the marks on her wrists from where one of her scarves was tied around it.

Crane takes her hand and kisses the faint marks, rubbing her skin gently with his thumb. “She was not as... accommodating as you are, my love.”

Abbie lifts her head and looks at him. “Really?”

“She was quite reserved.”

“She was a _witch._ ”

He lifts his head to look at her. “She was a _Quaker_ , as far as I knew,” Crane reminds her, raising an eyebrow. He drops his head back against the pillow. “This is not a topic with which I am comfortable,” he adds.

“I'm curious, though,” Abbie gently presses, shifting so she is lying on her stomach on top of him. She folds her hands on his chest and rests her chin atop them. “She's been gone over a year, plus she gave us her blessing, remember? In fact, she knew before we did. Well, before _I_ did, anyway.”

Crane smiles guiltily, recalling his admission of how he had first realized the beginnings of romantic feelings for her on that fateful day when she convinced him to leave her in Purgatory. Of course, at the time, he was horrified and resolutely pushed them away. “What would you like to know?” he sighs smiling slightly, conceding to her. As always. _She never fails t_ _o_ _answer my questions. It is only fair that I reciprocate._

“Was it really against the law to do... well, most of the things we've been doing?”

He nods. “No touching below the waist. No giving oral pleasure.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “And I'm sure tying your lover up and spanking her before giving her a good hard shag would have been frowned upon as well.”

Abbie giggles and drops her forehead against her hands. “So, then... how...?” she asks, lifting her head again.

“In the most basic sense,” he answers, not realizing he's answering the _wrong_ question. “Mostly employing what I believe is now referred to as 'the missionary position.' I convinced her to – as you very accurately say – _ride_ me once. It was certainly pleasurable, but... I would have liked more variety.”

“Actually, what I was going to ask is how do you know about all this kinky shit we do?”

“Katrina was not my first,” he admits. “She knew this. There were... places one could go... safe places... to indulge oneself.” He pauses a moment. “And now, with the miracle of the Internet, worlds have been opened to me.”

“I don't know if I am glad I showed you how to surf the 'net or not,” Abbie chuckles.

“I found your books about Mr. Grey, and they were nowhere near the computer,” Crane points out, and Abbie laughs harder.

“Wow. So, Katrina was boring in the sack, hey?”

Crane pinches her backside in response, and she squeaks. “I never said 'boring'. I simply stated that I would have enjoyed a wider range of activities. The important thing was we loved one another and we did share our love behind closed doors. Frequently. And, that's more than many couples could hope for in those days.”

“That's more than many couples have _these_ days,” Abbie amends.

“She did... one time... she agreed to...”

“Ooo, what did she do?” Abbie asks, perking up.

“We traded garments once. She wore my shirt and trousers and I donned one of her gowns.”

Abbie's mouth opens wide, smiling in disbelief. “Her gown fit you?”

“You may have noticed I am a rather slender man,” he says. “And Katrina was not as tiny as you, though she was still quite slim. I merely slipped it on. We did not fasten it.” He scowls slightly. “The shoulders did give me trouble. And, of course, it was much too short.”

Abbie has been giggling the whole time, picturing him struggling with Katrina's gown. “What did you do?”

“I pulled her trousers off of her as slowly as I dared, then rucked up my skirts and gave her a good...” he leans his head up and kisses her, “hard...” he kisses her again, longer, squeezing her backside, “fuck,” he finishes.

“Dirty mouth,” Abbie teasingly chides. She can probably count the number of times she's heard him say that particular word on one hand. _And that's probably a good thing, because there's something about the way he says it that just makes me_ _want to..._ She leans up and kisses him deeply, writhing slightly atop him. “So... you like to play dress up, hmm?”

 

xXx

 

Crane returned from an after-dinner walk a few days later to find a bag on the table with a note taped to it.

“Abbie?” he called, not seeing any sign of her. “Love?” He lifts the note and puzzles over it.

_Put this on, then come find me._

A small smile spreads across his face. “Hmm, a game, then?” he mutters, reaching into the bag.

He finds a costume in red, black and gray, complete with a helmet and a large, plastic hammer. Smiling, he recalls their conversation several days prior and knows exactly what has inspired the evening's activities.

Thus far, Abbie has shown him _The Avengers_ , both Thor movies, both Captain America movies, and all three Iron Man movies. Crane is quite familiar with the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Crane is also quite familiar with Abbie's crush on Thor, played by Mr. Hemsworth of Australia (though Mr. Mackie's Falcon from the second Captain America movie is now a close second).

So, it is not a surprise that she would have him don a Thor costume for this little escapade.

“I suppose I should be grateful the bag did not contain a blue shirt and false, pointed ears.” he mutters, taking the bag to the spare bedroom to change. Abbie has also subjected him to _Star Trek_ , but only the “new” movies. She's been promising to “show him the older stuff one of these days,” but they haven't gotten around to it as of yet. “However, I do not think I would have minded the white shirt and black waistcoat that is Captain Solo's favored garb,” he adds, _Star Wars_ springing to mind as he pulls the tie from his hair to facilitate the helmet. He smiles as he recalls how pleased she was when he recognized that Natalie Portman and Samuel L. Jackson were in _The Avengers_ as well as some of the _Star Wars_ movies.

“Hmm, if I am Thor, surely that means Abbie will be Jane Foster,” he smiles. “Or Loki,” he frowns, remembering some frankly quite disturbing things she told him about “shipping” and “fan-fiction” and how there are people who “ship” Thor with Loki. _I do hope she has chosen Jane Foster. Mr. Hiddleston is brilliant, but I much prefer Miss Portman. A female version of Loki would have definite potential for being quite delicious, however..._

Crane heads to the bedroom they have been sharing, clad in his own trousers and boots along with a vest made from some strange plastic-like material, red cape, and plastic winged helmet, plastic Mjolnir dangling from one hand.

He pauses outside the closed bedroom door. _She must be in there; the door is never closed._ A crafty smile creeping across his face, he reaches for the handle, then bursts in as heroically as possible.

“You have summoned me, Jane Foster?” he booms, striving for Thor's heroic speech cadence.

Abbie is facing a white board she has set on a dresser, which she has covered with various numbers and letters, attempting to make it look vaguely scientific. He can see e = mc2, a2 + b2 = c2, a recipe for some sort of baked good, and a section that appears to be a grocery list, among other things.

She turns and her lips twitch momentarily as she takes in the sight of him. For her part, she's wearing jeans and a t-shirt topped with a plaid flannel shirt. Her hair is loose and she has on a pair of glasses. In one hand is a dry-erase marker and the other is clutching some sort of hand-held electronic device Crane doesn't recognize.

“Thor,” Abbie says, a smile spreading across her face. “I've figured out the formula that will repair the Bifrost.”

Crane steps forward, slowly walking towards her. “This is most excellent news, Jane. It will allow us to more easily move between realms once again.”

Abbie sets the marker down and removes her glasses, which Crane now sees have no lenses in them. _They were most attractive on her, however._ “I know,” she says, her voice dropping to a more seductive tone. “That's why I'm trying to fix it,” she adds, running her hand over his chest.

“I do believe this is cause for celebration,” Crane says, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him like he's seen Thor do in the movies. He leans down and kisses her, slowly and softly at first, then intensifying as his desire increases.

Abbie drops the electronic device and slides her hands around his chest to hold his back. Crane drops Mjolnir and lifts her into his arms, growling deliciously.

She wraps her legs around his waist, tangling them in his cape. He carries her the short distance to the bed, slides his hands to grasp her under her arms, and tosses her – carefully – to the bed.

“Cr— Thor!” Abbie squeals, a giggle escaping.

Crane keeps his eyes locked on her as he removes his cape and tosses it aside with a flourish. “Jane Foster, I have wanted you for many of your Earth years,” he says, removing his faux-armored vest. “Since the day I first laid eyes on you.” He steps out of his boots, looking down only briefly. “After you struck me with your automobile. I opened my eyes and, confronted with your beauty, I thought I surely was in Valhalla.”

Abbie's eyebrows rise, impressed. _I don't remember them talking about Valhalla in the movies. He must have done some independent research._ “Thor,” she says, shrugging out of her flannel shirt and throwing it on top of his cape, “I've been waiting for you.” She pulls her t-shirt off, revealing that she's not wearing a bra beneath it. “For so long,” she continues, lying back on the bed.

“Wait no more, fair maiden, for I intend to have you until we are both weak and spent.” He removes his trousers and underwear. He lifts his hand to his helmet, intending to remove it.

“Leave it on,” Abbie whispers, biting her lower lip seductively.

Crane quirks an eyebrow, but drops his hands. He moves to the bed and continues his speech as he prowls over her. “You will know ecstasy this night. You and I will glimpse Valhalla,” he rumbles, kissing his way up her body.

“Wow,” Abbie gasps, overcome by his kisses and his words. “ _Damn_.”

“I will not stop until you are screaming my name, Jane Foster,” Crane promises, sucking a waiting nipple into his mouth. “And then, I will begin anew.” He licks a trail up to her neck.

“Oh...” Abbie moans, arching beneath him. “Damn, but you're good at this...”

Crane doesn't know if she's praising his prowess as a lover or his commitment to his role, but he grins against her skin regardless, because he realizes he doesn't care which. _She is pleased, that is all that matters._

She pulls his head up to hers, kissing him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, pushing it against his as they tangle and slide.

He groans, his hand roving her body, drinking in the softness of her skin beneath his calloused hands. One moves lower, slipping between her legs.

“Ah,” she breathes, tearing her lips away when he touches her, lifting her hips, searching for more contact.

Crane moves to kiss her neck, and his helmet knocks against Abbie's nose. She curses lightly and removes it, tossing it carelessly to the floor. “Worth a shot,” she gasps, threading her fingers into Crane's hair as he places wet, hungry kisses on her neck.

“I knew it would not last,” he mutters against her skin. He nips the soft place where Abbie's neck and shoulder meet, then soothes the spot with his tongue, drawing a whimper from her. His fingers continue to dip and sweep between her legs, and her head tosses on the pillow, the sensations threatening to overtake her.

“ _I'm_ not gonna last,” she moans, reaching between them to grasp his length, stroking him until his breathing is shallow and harsh.

“Miss— Jane,” Crane gasps, and Abbie smiles at having gotten him to slip up. She stops moving her hand on him and gently guides him into place.

He enters her swiftly and with some force, burying himself deep. Abbie cries out and clings to his shoulders, and he pauses.

“ _Go_ ,” she urges, wrapping her leg around him and kicking him lightly. He growls and obeys her command, pausing only to slide his hands along her arms to take her hands. He twines their fingers together and pins her hands against the mattress on either side of her head.

Crane drops his head, kissing her hungrily, and resumes, unleashing himself fully, thrusting into her until the headboard pounds against the wall.

“Oh... fu... oh, _yes,_ Ichabod!” Abbie tumbles quickly, hips bucking beneath him, her fingernails digging into the backs of his hands.

He thrusts into her a few more times before he stills, his back arching as he presses in as deeply as possible while he floods into her. “Abbie...” he groans, her name a strangled prayer. He releases her hands and drops gently over her, sliding out and resting his head on her chest. He kisses her breasts a few times, then lifts his head and kisses her chin, smiling up at her.

Abbie brushes his damp hair away from his face and kisses him. He hums happily against her lips, then rolls off of her, tucking her against his side.

They are quiet for a few minutes. Crane's long fingers drag idly over Abbie's skin; Abbie's smaller fingers gently trace the scar on his chest.

After a while, Crane stirs, lifting up slightly to look down at Abbie, eyebrow raised saucily. She looks up at him, intrigued.

“Another!” he declares, and Abbie falls into a fit of laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

“Take your knickers off,” Ichabod mutters into Abbie's ear. He kisses her cheek while in the area, then adds, “Now,” before straightening up and returning to his meal.

They are at the annual Sleepy Hollow Policeman's Banquet, seated at a table with six other people.

He glances over at her and raises an eyebrow, silently asking her why she has not begun to comply with his request.

Abbie leans towards him and he ducks his head to meet her. “You're making assumptions,” she says. She smirks at him and sits back.

“Miss Mills,” he softly says, using _that_ form of her name. The one reserved for special occasions.

 _Naked_ occasions.

Abbie chuckles, knowing he has misunderstood. She knows he has because she was intentionally vague.

She reaches under the table and taps his thigh. He puzzles at her. “Hand,” she whispers. The other diners at the table are not paying them the least bit of attention, so he drops his right hand beneath the table.

She takes his hand and moves it to her leg, on her bare knee. She slides his hand upward, under her skirt, until he takes over, moving it higher and slightly inward. Before long, he feels warm, damp curls against his knuckles. He gently explores, his long fingers softly probing, while Abbie clutches her fork.

“I was making assumptions, indeed,” Crane mutters, raising his eyebrow again as his finger finds her sweet spot and circles it a few times. “Naughty minx,” he adds, his voice very low.

“This was a bad idea,” Abbie whispers. “I should have just told you I wasn't wearing any.”

“Oh, my dear, I disagree,” he says, sliding his finger inside. He moves it in and out a few times, then withdraws it, leaving her feeling empty, her breathing shallow. He sucks the digit clean, then blithely returns to his meal.

 

xXx

 

Abbie spends the rest of the meal in a perplexed state of frustration, wondering exactly why Crane requested she remove her panties. _Obviously, he had something more in mind than what he already did. And, that was my fault._

Dinner has ended and speeches have been made. Abbie and Crane sit at their table near the back, watching the other officers and spouses mingle and drink. Crane has retrieved beverages for them, but does not seem inclined to circulate amongst the others, so they sit together at their table. Alone.

“That dessert was quite good,” he comments, sipping his rum. “I never had much of a sweet tooth in my day, but that perhaps could be attributed to the scarcity of sugar at the time.”

“Could be,” Abbie answers. She shifts in her seat, still wondering what's going on inside that great big freaky brain of his. She notices how his eyes have been scanning the vicinity as he speaks, so her anticipation begins to build. “Ichab... what are you...?” Abbie's train of thought derails as she sees Crane suddenly disappear beneath the table, completely shrouded by the long tablecloth.

She feels his hands on her knees, pulling her slightly forward and pushing them apart.

“You are not... oh, God, you are...” Abbie whispers through clenched teeth. “Bastard.”

His breath puffs against her thigh as he chuckles devilishly, nudging his way forward, forward until he is close enough to reach her. His tongue snakes out, slipping along her folds, and she nearly leaps from her chair. His strong hands on her thighs hold her firmly in place, and she grips the table instead, trying to appear normal. Cool. Collected.

“Hey, Abbie, where's your British shadow?”

 _Oh, shit._ “Luke,” Abbie answers. She takes a drink of her wine to buy some time. “He... um, he's in the bathroom,” she says. Crane slides a finger into her, adding another layer of sensation.

“What's his deal, anyway?” Luke asks, grabbing a chair – thankfully, not Crane's – and plunking down, uninvited, at the table. “I thought he was going to go back to England or whatever.”

Abbie bites her lip as Crane suckles her below, flicking his tongue against her nub, then softly massaging it. “H-he likes it here,” she says. “Says helping out here is more re... warding than teaching a bunch of mostly-disinterested young people.” _That sounds convincing. I think. I... oh, no, no, no..._

Crane adds another finger, increasing the contact. He licks her slowly, lovingly, delaying her gratification.

 _He doesn't want me to come while talking to Luke,_ she realizes.

“Bullshit,” Luke says. “He's still here for one reason and one reason alone, and we both know what that is.” He smirks. “Or, who.”

Crane moves his lips to trail along her thigh, kissing it softly, his beard brushing her skin. Abbie is grateful because it gives her a moment to think clearly.

“Crane's reasons for staying are none of your business, Morales,” Abbie says. “Besides, it's not like we've been keeping our relationship a secret,” she pauses as Crane bites her thigh, then slides his tongue across the spot, “so why are you acting like the neighborhood busybody?”

Luke holds his hands up in surrender. “Geez, sorry. Just giving you shit, Mills. You used to have a sense of humor,” he says, pushing his chair out.

“Yeah, and _you_ used to be funny,” Abbie retorts, and she feels Crane chuckling against her thigh again. Then, he returns to his original task, his tongue pressing softly against her.

“Later, Ab,” Luke says, standing. He looks around. “Hope your boy isn't sick. He's been gone a while,” he comments.

“He's fine,” Abbie says, her voice coming out a little breathier than she'd like.

Luke gives her a half-hearted wave and walks back to the bar.

Abbie clenches her thighs around Crane's head. “Get up here. Now,” she says. “No one is looking.”

Crane kisses her thigh and pokes his head out. “Clear?” he asks.

“Yes. Get your skinny ass up here,” she says, irritated, aroused, and strangely amused all at once.

He emerges, sitting gracefully in his chair. He reaches for his rum and takes a long drink, then fixes her in his stare. “I'm 'fine'?” he asks archly.

“You know what I meant,” Abbie huffs, and he chuckles, lifting her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist.

“Shall we retire?” he asks, rubbing his beard in what appears to be a thoughtful manner. Actually, he's wiping it dry, making sure there is no visible sign of what he had just been doing.

“Yes, please,” she answers.

He stands and offers his hand. Abbie takes it and they head for the doors. Irving waves at them, and they return the gesture just before heading out of the room and into the corridor.

Instead of leading her towards the exit, Crane pulls her in the opposite direction, to a darker area of the building.

“Crane, what are you...?”

“No questions,” he answers tersely. He peeks into the coatroom, but there aren't enough coats to provide cover. He grunts softly and continues on, trying the knob on the first closed door.

It opens, revealing a janitorial closet.

_Oh, he is not..._

He pulls her inside, closes the door, and presses her against the hard wood.

“Cr—”

He silences her feeble protest with a searing kiss. She can feel his hands working the buttons and fly of his trousers (he agreed to wear modern attire for this event) as his tongue does sinful, delicious things inside her mouth.

It's pitch black inside the closet, heightening their other senses. Especially touch.

“Ah,” Crane declares, successful in his efforts. He hoists Abbie into his arms, bracing her shoulders against the door, and somehow manages to bury himself in her before she even has a chance to finish wrapping her legs around him.

“Oh...” Abbie gasps, hanging on to his shoulders as he pounds into her, his lips now trailing carelessly down her neck. She drops her head back against the door, relishing the feel of his lips and beard on her skin, his hands gripping her backside, his shaft thrusting deep within her. “Mmm... oh...”

He groans against the swell of her breasts when he feels her fingers dig into his shoulders. Her breathing speeds up and soft whimpers are dropping from her lips, so he increases his efforts, knowing it won't be long. _Thankfully._

“Oh... y... Ichabod...” she breathes his name, shifting one hand to his head, holding it against her neck as she shatters around him.

“Ab... bie...” His answer comes a moment later, her broken name grunted through gritted teeth as he also endeavors to be quiet.

Having sex in a semi-public place is fun. Being discovered doing so is not.

“Damn,” Abbie sighs as Crane slowly releases her. She slides down his body until her feet touch the floor. “ _Damn._ ”

Crane chuckles, knowing her exclamation is not one of regret. He finds her face with his hands and drops his head to find her lips between his thumbs. “I enjoy this darkness,” he mutters against her lips. “It requires one to...” he slides a hand down, exploring, “ _feel_ one's way around.”

Abbie laughs, ineffectively swatting at his hand. “Well, _feel_ your way to the doorknob and see if the coast is clear,” she says, making no move to stop kissing.

“I think it would be prudent to first return my soldier to his battalion,” he answers, kissing her one final time before fastening his pants.

Abbie laughs harder at this, but takes the opportunity to make sure her dress is covering her bottom half.

Crane opens the door a crack, peeking out. They hear the muffled sounds of the party drifting down the empty hallway, but nothing close. He leans out further.

“Clear,” he says, quickly exiting, pulling her with him. They take a moment to check one another over in the light. Abbie fixes Crane's hair where she mussed it. Crane adjusts the strap of her dress.

He takes a moment to gaze down at her. “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening, Lieutenant?”

“Three times, and you know it,” Abbie answers, smiling.

Crane offers his arm, and she takes it. They begin walking out. “Well, then, I do not believe I have adequately expressed how much I love you this evening,” he says.

She looks up at him. “Only this evening?” she asks, smirking impishly.

“This evening, tomorrow evening... _every_ evening, every day, every night, every moment,” he corrects, completely nonplussed by her teasing.

Just outside the doors, Abbie stops on the steps, facing him. He obligingly moves one step lower. “I love you, too, Ichabod,” she says, leaning over to kiss him. “And, I think we need to go home and have Round Two.”

“Mmm,” Crane agrees. He takes her hand and kisses it, heedless of the door opening behind them. “However, this time we shall have all the lights _on._ Every single one. Groping in the dark is quite enjoyable, but I wish to see you,” he says, heading down the stairs.

At the top of the steps, an unnoticed Luke Morales stands, gaping.


	5. Chapter 5

“Close your eyes,” Crane says, his voice soft and full of decadent promise.

Abbie, hands tied to the headboard by a couple of silk scarves, closes her eyes. A moment later, she peeks.

“Keep them closed or I shall blindfold you, Miss Mills,” he admonishes. He raises an eyebrow. “Can you be trusted to behave yourself?”

“I think you'd better blindfold me,” she answers.

“Points for honesty,” Crane nods. “Have you another scarf?”

“Yes, but there's a sleep mask in the nightstand drawer,” she says, pointing her chin in that direction. She wants to ask him what he has planned, but knows he won’t tell her until he is ready to divulge the information. So, she keeps silent and waits, knowing her patience will be rewarded.

“A what?” he asks, opening the drawer and withdrawing what, to him, looks like a mask one would wear to a masquerade ball, only soft, plain, and with no eye holes. “Ah, I see,” he observes, testing the elastic band with his fingers. “And, you do not,” he finishes, gently slipping the mask over Abbie's head.

She snorts a short laugh, lifting her head to assist.

“I trust the purpose of this item is to block light in order to encourage more restful slumber?” he asks.

Abbie sighs lightly. “You really want to talk about this right now, Baby?”

The mask obscures about half of her lovely, expressive face, but he knows exactly what look she's giving him from behind it. “Perhaps later, my heart,” he says, leaning down and kissing her lips. “You cannot see?” he asks, moving away again.

“I cannot see,” she confirms. “So?”

Her question catches him off guard and he pauses. “Miss Mills?” he asks, unsure about what she is asking.

“What are you planning in that giant, perverted brain of yours?”

He laughs. “We are going to play a game,” he declares. He sounds farther away.

“Where are you going?”

“Won't be a moment. Do not run off now, my love,” he says.

She sighs, refusing to acknowledge his joke. “You should have gathered your supplies beforehand,” she calls. “You—” She stops, realizing Crane's intent. _He's building anticipation, the jackass._

“If I had done that, you might have seen something,” he calmly answers as he returns.

Abbie listens closely, trying to hear... anything. He is as quiet as a church mouse.

She jumps slightly when she feels his hands on her hips. “You won't be needing these,” he purrs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. Her hips lift automatically and he removes her only remaining garment.

Her heartbeat increases slightly as his fingers trail down her legs. She feels warmer, despite being completely exposed.

She hears him inhale deeply, then hears the very slight sound of fabric hitting carpet as he drops her panties to the floor. She smiles, fairly certain about what he was doing just before he let them go.

“I am going to touch you, Miss Mills,” he declares.

“Good,” Abbie answers.

“No talking,” he says, a little sharper. “As I was saying, I am going to touch you. You must guess what with.”

Abbie opens her mouth, then closes it.

“You may speak, but you may not ask questions. If you get too flippant, I will stop the game and you will not finish,” Crane instructs, his voice soft but stern.

 _You will not finish._ She mutely nods, understanding that he will leave her hanging if she's a smartass.

“Yes, Captain,” she obediently says. He rewards her with a soft kiss on her collarbone. Then, he is gone again.

She waits. A moment later, something incredibly soft and light is running up her thigh. It barely feels like anything. Cool, but not cold. It traverses her stomach, circling her navel, then up to brush lightly across each nipple in turn. She hears Crane quietly inhale as her body responds to the feather-light touch.

 _That's it._ “Feather,” she breathes as he drags the object up the side of her neck.

“Correct,” he says, flicking the tip of it against her nose. “That was an easy one.”

She feels the bed shift as he moves to retrieve another item.

He starts at her neck this time, dragging downward. It feels almost the same as the feather, and she frowns.

“It’s not another feather. You wouldn’t do that,” she says.

“True,” he allows, drawing the item in circles around her nipple, gradually widening as he goes.

“It feels bigger… there’s more mass to it.”

“Also, true.” He caresses her stomach with it, then travels down over her hip to her thigh. He reverses the direction and moves it up, dragging it over her womanhood.

“Ah,” she breathes, the touch _just_ enough to be tremendously frustrating. “What the hell is it?”

“No questions, Miss Mills,” he reminds her, bringing the item back up.

“I wasn’t actually _asking._ I was thinking out loud,” she protests.

He drops it directly over her bellybutton, and she can feel it is larger than she thought, but still soft. “Perhaps…” he muses, bringing the item further up, trailing it over her skin, between her breasts, up her neck, over her chin, until it reaches her nose.

Abbie smiles. “It’s a rose. I can smell it now.”

“Very good,” Crane says, bending down to kiss her lips. “You look strangely enticing. With most of your face obscured, these succulent lips of yours,” he kisses her again, “look all the more kissable, as they are all I can see.” He spends a few moments kissing her deeply, but only his lips touch her. She unthinkingly pulls at her silken bonds, wanting to pull him closer. “Growing frustrated, Treasure?” he asks, pulling away.

“A little,” she admits.

“Well, then, I shall continue,” he says.

This time, she hears some noises. A strange clinking sound. A light tap as something is set on the nightstand. She wants to ask, but keeps silent.

“Hmm,” Crane ponders. Abbie can feel him moving on the bed, deciding what he wants to do. “I don't believe I've started... _here_...”

“Oh! Cold!” Abbie exclaims as something very cold brushes her nipple. Then, he swirls it around the stiffened peak. “Shit, that's an ice cube, isn't it?” she says, more an accusation than a question.

“Ah, you guessed that much too quickly,” he says, trailing the cube across to the other breast. “I think I shall continue to play, if you do not mind.”  
“You'll continue even if I – ah! – do mind,” she says, squirming a little as he teases her other nipple with the ice.

“Now, now, we both know that is not true,” he calmly intones, dragging the cube down her stomach. He holds it over her navel and lets some water drip into it. “Do you want me to stop, Miss Mills?” he asks. Then, she feels the soft prickle of his beard on her stomach as he bends down and sucks the water out of her belly button before sliding his tongue into it for a moment.

“No,” she gasps, “don't stop.”

“Good,” he replies, lifting his head. There is a pause, and from what she can hear, he is getting another ice cube out of the glass on the nightstand.

_How many does he have?_

She feels his hand at her knee, parting her legs a little further. _Oh. Oh, no. He's not going to put it there..._

Abbie inhales sharply, sucking air between her teeth as she feels the cold wetness of the ice cube drag along her folds, circle, and slide back down. “Oh...” she moans softly, “that's so... weird...”

Crane chuckles, then pushes the oblong chunk of ice inside her, his deft fingers sliding it in and out a few times.

She can feel the ice melting and feels a wet trail dripping down, collecting under her rear end, wetting the sheet.

_Oh well._

“I am making a mess,” he declares, moving the ice back to her most sensitive point. He gently presses it against her, then circles a few more times. “I believe that will do,” he says. She hears him suck the ice cube into his mouth. “Mmm.” Then, she hears the clink as he drops it back into the glass. “I think we need to heat you up a little bit now, don't you?”

Abbie feels something cold and hard slide across her stomach. _Is that plastic? Or…_ “That had better not be a candle, Crane,” she warns. “I am not down with dripping candle wax, so if it is, I will safe-word you so fas— oh!”

Crane cuts off her words by switching on the vibrator and moving it lower. He leans down and bestows a soft kiss on her lips. “I am ever mindful of your preferences and boundaries, my love. And, I do not think you need to guess what this is,” he gently says, kissing her once more.

Abbie relaxes. “Of course you are, sorry,” she sighs. “It was the only thing I could think of at the mo… oh… ment…”

He chuckles at her reaction to his placing the vibrator in exactly the right place while she was talking. “No apologies are necessary, Miss Mills,” he says, moving the device away, up to her breasts.

She mewls her disappointment.

“I still need you to last longer,” he says. “If I keep this item where you want it for too long, well…”

He circles the vibrator around her nipples a few times, then drags it back down again, where he teases her a few moments before slipping it inside.

“Mmm,” she moans, automatically moving her hips with the motion of his hand as he slides it in and out a few times.

“I believe that will suffice,” he murmurs, removing the vibrator and switching it off.

Abbie wants to complain, but she knows he’s not done. _He can't be. And if I do complain, he could still leave me hanging._

 _I don't think he actually_ would, _but I'm not going to test that theory._

She hears him set the vibrator with the other items on the nightstand. The next thing she hears is a quiet, fabric-y sound, which she surmises must be Crane removing his boxers.

She tries not to smile too much.

The bed dips again as he sits beside her, and the next thing she feels is the warm wetness of his lips and tongue on the side of her neck. Once again, he doesn’t touch her anywhere else; only her neck with his mouth.

“Mmm, I like this one,” she purrs, moving her head to give him more room. “This might be my favorite.”

“Might be?” he asks, lifting his head for just a moment.

“Is,” she confirms. Her answer gets the result for which she is hoping, and he resumes what he was doing, moving more fully over her as he trails wet kisses down over her collar bone to her breasts.

Crane takes his time, sucking, kissing, and flicking her nipples, his hands braced on either side of Abbie's body on the bed. His long fingers curl into the sheet as he wills them to stay put, and he suddenly wonders if he is tormenting himself more than he is Abbie.

“Your skin is truly a wonder.” His voice is low, his lips brushing her as he speaks, his warm breath caressing her skin. “The texture... color... flavor...” he pauses, lightly nipping the side of her breast as he travels down to her belly, taught and firm but feminine and sexy, where he once again attends to her bellybutton. He lightly drags his lips along her skin from her navel to her hipbone. “Your scent is always so divine...”

“Oh, God, Ichabod,” she whispers, neglecting to call him “Captain” in the haze of desire he has conjured.

If he notices, he doesn't comment or seem to care. He is too busy nudging her knees apart with his nose so he can kiss, lick, and nip his way up her inner thigh. “Mmm,” he hums pleasurably when he reaches his target, the vibrations from his deep voice adding another subtle layer of sensation.

His tongue is tireless, alternately sliding along her folds, circling her sensitive bundle of nerves, and thrusting inside as far as it can. Abbie squirms under Crane’s ministrations, her back arching off the bed, hips rocking instinctively against his mouth.

Finally, he can take no more, and his hands finally make contact with her skin. He grips her thighs, then her hips, sliding them down to squeeze her backside.

“Oh... _finally_...” Abbie gasps. She's been waiting for those large, rough palms to glide skillfully over her skin and find all the places he knows so well.

Crane moves his hands up to cover her breasts, his palms grazing her nipples before closing his hands over the soft mounds.

She moans and writhes beneath him, her breathing becoming harsh and shallow as his tongue continues its decadent assault below.

“Ohhh...” Her moan is long and drawn out. She pulls at the scarves binding her hands to the headboard.

Able to read his lieutenant like a book, Crane knows she is very close, and pulls back, bestowing one more small kiss on her inner thigh.

Abbie whimpers a little, then she feels his body over hers, completely surrounding her.

“Miss Mills, would you like the mask to stay on, or shall I take it off?” he asks, the tip of his manhood poised at her opening, teasing her, waiting for her decision.

“On,” she answers immediately. “Leave it on.”

“Mmm, naughty girl,” he rumbles, moving his hips ever so slightly, just to tease her a little more. “I like it.” He plunges his hips forward, burying himself deep.

“Ooo,” Abbie moans, wrapping her legs around him because her arms are useless. “Yes... oh...”

Crane shifts his weight to rest on one hand so the other can return to her breast, his thumb rubbing across her nipple. He bends his back to kiss her lips, the difference in their heights a challenge but not an obstacle as he kisses her deeply, pouring his soul into her.

“Oh... I love you so much,” he groans, tearing his lips away just long enough to speak the words.

“I love you, too,” she answers, squeezing him with her legs.

He understands what she wants and increases his pace, moving faster and harder, and seconds later, she comes crashing down around him.

“Oh, yes!” she cries out. “Ichabod...” she sighs, feeling boneless.

He tumbles right after her, her name on his lips, as always. “Ah... Abbie... Love,” he grunts, stilling as he pulses within her. His body slumps with release for a few heartbeats, then he reaches up, removes her mask, then pulls the tails of the scarves to untie the knots. Her hands flop limply onto the bed.

Crane rolls them so she is lying on top of him, gently disengaging himself in the process.

“My arms are asleep,” Abbie says. “But, that was fun.” She looks over and sees the feather, the rose, the glass with the now mostly-melted ice, and the vibrator.

He obligingly rubs her arms, trying to bring the feeling back into them. It's a little awkward given their positions, but he manages. “So, would you do this again?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” she answers, her lips curving into a crafty smile.


	6. Chapter 6

“It says here that the Amarok can be vanquished by silver, much like in the werewolf legends,” Crane comments. “I believe,” he adds, squinting at the page. “His handwriting is deplorable, and Inukitut is not one of the languages in which I am completely fluent,” he admits. “And, the Google translation is completely useless.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting you’re not amazing at something?” Abbie asks, grinning at him across the table. She’s been making notes of her own from her laptop, a yellow legal pad beside her.

“ _One_ thing,” he allows, trying not to return her infectious smile.

“Hmm, I can think of a few other things at which you aren’t amazing,” she continues, tapping her pencil thoughtfully against her chin. “Making coffee…”

“I prefer to leave the preparation of that particular beverage to the professionals,” he defends himself. “Besides, tea is much more civilized.”

“That’s your way of saying you’ve become a coffee snob,” she retorts, laughing. “Hmm, what else? Oh! Your skill at Mario Kart leaves something to be desired…”

“That infernal controller behaves nothing like a real automobile!”

“As does your ability to keep your mouth shut while watching documentaries…” she continues, thoroughly enjoying herself now.

“Well, I cannot be blamed if I am merely pointing out the inaccuracies and inconsistencies that are being broadcast as…” he pauses, sighing, “ _facts._ There really should be better accountability on television. Furthermore—”

“Here we go,” Abbie mutters under her breath.

“—a channel calling itself ‘The History Channel’ should know better than to broadcast programs perpetuating the belief that there are space aliens.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “You mean to tell me that after all we’ve seen and done, _aliens_ are out of the realm of possibility for you?”

He angles his head at her. “Of course not. I have no problem whatsoever believing in the possibility of life outside of this planet.” He looks down at his book again, not noticing the sound of Abbie’s pencil clattering to the floor. “I’m merely stating that until there is indisputable proof, Mr. Tsoukalos should not be allowed to present his program about Aliens as though it is hard fact.” He looks up again. “Abbie?” She isn’t in her chair anymore, and he looks around the Archives, trying to see where she’s gone. “Love?” He feels warm hands touch his knees, then slide up his thighs. “Oh…”

Her hands move to his inner thighs, dangerously close, then back away. Teasing him.

“Miss Mills...”

One small, strong hand ventures higher again, this time moving all the way to his groin, where she closes her hand over him, squeezing just enough. He grunts, his hands gripping the edge of the table. She can feel his manhood growing and stiffening under her touch and slyly smiles, scooting closer, nudging herself in between his knees.

When he feels her opening his trousers, he speaks again. “Is this your way of getting me to stop ranting?” he asks, his voice husky. He peeks down at her.

“Actually,” she says, taking him in her hand and softly stroking his now fully-erect shaft, “I enjoy it when you are ranting.” She plunges him into her mouth in one sudden, smooth motion, and he groans. “It's kind of sexy,” she adds flicking her tongue against the tip, then biting very gently.

“Oh?” he asks, intrigued, his voice breaking as his body jerks in response to her actions. Later, when he can think clearly again, he will realize that she only cuts off his diatribes when they are in public, where others may hear and think him strange or even unbalanced. Privately, she lets him rant and rave until he is out of breath or words, whichever comes first, enjoying every moment.

“Mmm-hmm,” she affirms, her mouth full again. She licks from the base to the tip, swirling her tongue around, then taking all of him in again, slipping him in and out several times. “I love a man who is passionate about his beliefs,” she says, her hand reaching further into his opened trousers, gently squeezing below.

Crane groans, having difficulty staying in his seat. His hands move from the table to the arms of the chair, his knuckles white.

Abbie sucks him into her mouth again and again, her beautiful lips and skillful tongue luxurious and wet. She hums pleasurably, the sound vibrating against him.

“Yes,” he gasps, willing his hips to be still, to _not_ thrust upward into his beloved's mouth. “So good... oh... Abbie, I'm...”

She lightly bites him one more time, knowing he's close, then takes as much of him as she can into her mouth. She sucks hard, slowly lifting up, then suddenly plunging downward.

“Ohh...” he makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan as he hits his climax, releasing down her throat.

Abbie was ready for it and swallows, drawing every drop from him. She kisses the tip, then moves upward, settling into his lap.

“I dropped my pencil,” she explains, kissing him. “Had to pick it up, you know.” She brandishes said item in front of him.

“You're fortunate we were not interrupted,” he says, glancing around at the several entrance points, both visible and hidden, around the room.

“I sent Jenny to go talk to Big Ash about our wolf thing,” Abbie says.

“Amarok,” Crane automatically corrects.

“Yeah. And, you know she likes to stick around there as long as she can without being _too_ obvious,” she adds. He chuckles, and she continues. “And, Irving is across town until late afternoon today. Besides, he's learned to knock after that one time.”

“Ah,” he answers, nodding. He kisses her, remembering exactly which “one time” that was. He was kissing Abbie against the bookshelves, and she was completely hidden from view. Irving thought Crane was having a dizzy spell, leaning against the shelves with one hand, head bowed. After that awkward encounter, he always knocked loudly before he entered their inner sanctum.

She kisses him again. “We will be uninterrupted for a while. So, I wasn't worried.”

“Is that so?” he asks, glancing at the clock. _Still three and a half hours before nightfall._

She nods, then shouts in surprise as he lifts her, setting her on the table, pushing his books out of the way.

“In that case,” he rumbles, closing his trousers, then opening hers. “Miss Mills, this garment must go.”

As Abbie carelessly shucks her jeans and panties, leaving them hanging from one foot in her haste, Crane sits in his chair again and pulls her to the edge of the table, settling her legs over his shoulders.

“Skirts are much more convenient,” he mutters, kissing a hot trail up her firm thigh.

“Not for police worrrr-ohhh...”


	7. Chapter 7

“Stand there. Do not move.” Crane’s voice is commanding, but soft. A low rumble he uses because he knows what it does to Abbie. “Undress.”

“I need to move to do that,” she unthinkingly retorts, then presses her lips together.

He leans in very close. “Do not test me, Miss Mills,” he purrs into her ear.

“Yes, Captain,” she squeaks, and begins to undress. _Damn, I’m already wet. How does he_ do _that?_

He watches her with casual interest, his eyes hooded, as he leans against the doorframe of their bedroom. He is shirtless and barefoot, his trousers hugging his narrow waist.

She peels her snug-fitting jeans from her legs, bending down to pull them off, wondering what he is up to this time. He's never so completely objectified her like this before. _It's kind of hot._

“You are beautiful, Miss Mills,” he murmurs.

“Thank you, Captain,” she demurely answers, reaching back to unclasp her bra.

Crane steps closer and gently brushes her hands away. He deftly unhooks the garment, his fingertips just barely brushing her skin. She lightly shivers at the scant contact, her body craving his touch.

He withdraws without fully touching her. She swallows her disappointment, and bends to remove her panties.

“Give them to me,” he commands, his hand extended.

She places them in his hand, fairly certain of what is coming next. She watches as he thoughtfully rubs the scant, silken garment between his fingers.

“These are already damp,” he comments, his long fingers still toying with the purple fabric. “I have barely touched you, and yet your undergarment is saturated. Why is that, do you think?”

“Because you make them that way,” she obediently answers. “You make _me_ that way,” she amends.

He drops her panties to the floor and steps closer. _Stalks_ closer. “Yes. It is because I know your body better than you do, Miss Mills.” His voice is like warm honey, dripping slowly over her as he circles her. “Every dip and swell, every curve and line… they are mine to do with what I will.” He stops, standing right behind her, leaning down to speak softly in her ear. “I am a virtuoso, and you, my instrument. I will play your every sinew, plucking your strings until you sing.”

Abbie’s knees nearly buckle. She swallows hard, but says nothing.

Crane's hands softly land on her hips, his thumbs circling, stroking her silken skin. “I know which spots make you whimper,” he murmurs, leaning in again to suck at the side of her neck, and she unwittingly mewls, her head dropping to the side. “I know how to make you sigh.” His hands slide forwards and upwards, his palms grazing her erect nipples before he fully closes his hands over her breasts.

She sighs, not even caring that he is, indeed, playing her like she's a violin and he is Itzhak Perlman. He presses his hips into her backside, and she can feel his arousal against her.

“I know how to make you moan, gasp, and cry out my name...” he thoughtfully pauses, kissing her neck and shoulder. “The only question is, shall I make you cry my name like a prayer or a shout?” He slides one hand lower, ghosting over her taut belly to slip between her legs.

Abbie moans, her knees do buckle now, but he holds her upright.

“Hmm... perhaps you should not be on your feet,” Crane muses, his fingers unrelenting in their pursuit of her pleasure. He holds her upright a few seconds longer, just to torment her a little longer.

Her legs are shaky by the time he leads her to the bed. He guides her down onto the mattress, then steps back and removes his pants and boxer briefs. When he joins her, she reaches for him, wanting to touch, but he stops her.

“Does the violin take the musician in its hand?” he asks, arching his brow. She drops her hand. He lifts it in his, kissing it. He turns it over, kissing each slender fingertip, then places a wet, lingering kiss on her palm. “The violin only _responds._ It does not act on its own.”

 _No touching then._ “Yes, Captain.” Abbie tries to hide her disappointment, but Crane knows her far too well.

He leans close, half on top of her, and kisses her lips. “Allow me to make you sing, Treasure,” he whispers.

Her lips curve into a tiny smile, and she understands his game. _It's for me. He wants to do this for me._ She leans up and kisses him then. He allows it, but cocks another eyebrow at her afterward.

Crane proceeds to find all the hidden places on Abbie's body that draw various responses from her. He kisses down her neck, licking the hollow of her throat, and she hums. He lightly drags his teeth along her collarbone, and she sighs. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and tugs, and she gasps. He feathers kisses under her breasts, along the side of her rib cage, and she shudders as goosebumps erupt on her skin. He dips his tongue into her navel and she giggles.

“Oh...” He slips his fingers inside of her as his tongue flicks and circles, and she moans, arching her back. Her fingers grasp the bedclothes at her sides, itching for something to do. “Ah... mmm...”

He hums in response, his baritone voice vibrating against her and she moans again. She is so close, and he knows this, so he backs off. She whimpers, chasing her pleasure but knowing better than to thrust her hips up against his mouth. “Not yet, Miss Mills,” he murmurs, kissing her inner thigh.

He continues moving lower, lightly nipping her thigh, then kissing her knee. He lifts her leg and kisses the back of the joint, and Abbie lightly gasps, not realizing that spot was sensitive. She can't see his face, but knows he is smugly grinning as he drags his lips down her calf to her ankle. He kisses the inside of it, then her instep. Next, her sole, then each of her tiny toes with their perfect red nails.

Her eyes widen in surprise when he sucks her toes into his mouth. _That's new._ It's a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. _Not at all._ She closes her eyes and decides to enjoy it. After a few seconds, she sighs contentedly.

Crane kisses her big toe one final time. “Turn over,” he orders.

Abbie opens her eyes and just stares at him.

“On your stomach, Miss Mills,” he says. The “trust me” is plain in his eyes, so she flips over.

He leans down and kisses her backside, then grips her hips, lifting them until she gets the message and tucks her knees under her.

“Higher,” he says, his voice low and rough. She raises up, hugging the pillow beneath her, and feels the bed dip under his weight as he kneels behind her. His knees are between her calves and she can feel his erection brushing against her as he settles in. He bends down, kisses her back, then straightens up again as he takes his length in his hand and guides it into her from behind.

“Oh...” she moans, bracing herself against his still-slow thrusts. “Oh,” she repeats.

He caresses her rear with his large hand, softly and slowly, with just enough pressure to not tickle. A moment later, he lifts his hand and brings it down just sharply enough to sting a tiny bit. Then, his fingers become soft and tender once again.

“Ah!” she gasps. She was ready for it; knew he was likely going to spank her, but it still catches her off guard.

Crane repeats this a few times. Caress, spank, caress. Abbie is amazed at his ability to multi-task, as he never breaks the rhythm of his thrusts while his hands do other things. He leaves his left hand on her rear and moves his right around to stroke her sensitive bud in the front, ready to let her have her release.

“Mmm... ohhh...” she begins to moan in earnest as she plummets, sinking her teeth into the pillow clutched under her head.

“Yes,” he hisses through gritted teeth, thrusting harder.

“Oh... oh... ohhIchabod...” Abbie cries out his name as she tightens around him. She arches her back, her head tilted up, her fingers almost painfully gripping the pillow.

Mercifully, he moves his hand away from her over-sensitized button and tightly holds her hips as he snaps his hips a half-dozen more times. “Aaaabbie...” he grunts, his whole body going rigid as he releases into her in a rush of sensation and emotion that leaves him pleasantly weak.

He leans forward over her, enveloping her, and kisses her cheek. “I love you,” he whispers, gently disengaging himself from her and pulling her down to lie beside him.

“I love you, too,” she answers, curling into his embrace. “Was I a good little violin?” she asks, smiling against his chest.

He tightens his arms around her and answers, “My heart, the finest Stradivarius could not produce a more beautiful sound to these ears.”


End file.
